She Tried Her Best: How My Mum Ruined Her Relationship with Her Granddaughter by Forcing Clothes on Her
For years now, my mum has insisted on dressing my daughter—and, sadly, without the slightest awareness that she’s only driving a wedge between them. My girl is a teenager; she has her own taste, preferences, and style. But Gran stubbornly keeps buying her clothes without asking, without consulting, without even trying to understand. She just turns up with bags full of outfits. And every time—the same tears, the same reproaches, the same hurt. Because my daughter won’t wear them. And Mum—she takes it personally.
*”I went to so much trouble picking these out, and she won’t even try them on!”* she says, wounded, as if a child should be grateful just for the gesture of a gift.
But I remember exactly how it was when I was young. Mum always bought things based on one rule: *”It’ll last ten years,” “It won’t show stains,” “It’s sturdy fabric.”* No one cared about beauty, fashion, or comfort. I was dressed for their convenience, not mine. And I had to accept it—because money was tight. Only when I started earning my own keep did I finally get to choose clothes I actually liked, not just ones that would survive a nuclear winter.
Once I was on my feet, I tried to treat Mum—buy her something nice, something new. But she instantly dismissed it.
*”What on earth have you bought me? I look like a dress-up doll! I’m not twenty anymore. And honestly—this fabric won’t last. One wash and it’ll be fit for the bin.”*
She refused to wear anything I picked and kept buying the same indestructible, decade-proof clothes. Fine. I let it go. Let her wear what she wants.
But when my daughter was born, Mum flipped right back into the old script. She dug out those mothballed sacks of my childhood clothes—scratchy jumpers, pinafores, faded dresses with patches. Some were in good condition, so I tucked them away out of guilt. The rest? Straight to the skip. When Mum found out, she exploded.
*”I saved those for years! How could you?”*
From then on, she started buying *”new”* clothes. In her mind—new. To the eye? Straight out of a charity shop. Where she finds them, I’ll never know. Back when my girl was little, it didn’t matter what she crawled around in. But as she grew up—that’s when the real trouble started.
My daughter developed her own style. She picks her own outfits now. We go shopping together, and I make sure she gets things she actually likes. Because I know—if she hates it, she won’t wear it.
But Gran won’t back down. Since my daughter turned ten, it’s been one clash after another.
*”Why won’t you wear that jumper I gave you?”*
*”Because I don’t like it.”*
*”You’re spoiled and ungrateful!”* Mum snaps, glaring at me. *”This is your doing!”*
And I’m just… tired. Tired of explaining that love isn’t about forcing your choices on someone. I’ve begged her so many times—
*”Please, don’t buy her clothes. Give her money, a gift card, a book, jewellery. Anything but clothes.”*
But Mum won’t listen. She’s convinced she’s right. That we just don’t appreciate her. That her granddaughter is rude, unappreciative. That I’m a bad mother because I *”let her have her way.”*
But the truth? I’m letting my daughter be herself. And I hope—one day—Mum will understand. Before it’s too late. Before the wall between them becomes impossible to break down.
